Lostlight
by Aslynn
Summary: Post DS1/DS2. Death is tasked with recovering a powerfull angelic weapon, by a Council he no longer trusts, but is powerless to oppose. His search takes him back to Lostlight, to re-encounter what he left there, and maybe a chance at building a new future for himself, filled with something other than destruction. DeathxAzrael Warning: yaoi in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.

Warning: Yaoi inc in later chapters. Rated T for now but will go up to M later.

This story was born from a burning question: what ever happened to the Rod of Arafel after you defeat the Archon in DS2?  
I was so obsessed with the mystery that after watching the cutscene over and over, I can clearly distinguish the rod being in the Archon's hand when Death first impales him Harvester, and the next frame, when he rams it in again, it's gone. One frame to the next. Gone. o_o  
This is my take on that story arc after the end of DS2. It's my first fanfic, so I hope you enjoy :D

Lostlight

Chapter 1

A lone figure trudged on the parched and blackened ground, stepping over the frequent cracks in the earth that boiled over with lava. The rhythmic clank of metal and bone links in his armor adding to the monotonous footfalls of the heavy leather boots. Pale grey skin on a bare torso danced with the illumination of both fire and embers that made it look a hue that seemed almost, almost alive. The sporadic updrafts of warm volcanic air tousled the violet rags that hung from his waist while two crescent scythes hung at each hip, swinging to the tedious rhythm of his tireless steps.

He purposely avoided thinking how long he had walked, or wondering how much longer he would have to continue to walk. Thinking about such things would have only irritated him more than he was already, and quite frankly he felt he was too tired to even bother losing his temper. He knew he would arrive when they deemed he should and not a moment before.

So instead he occupied his mind being irritated at this summoning having come too soon. Much too soon. He would have gladly gone another thousand years without having to hear from the Charred Council. Well, yes, maybe a thousand years was far too much wishful thinking given that practically all of Creation was in turmoil after what happened on Earth. It was to be expected that they would call upon him soon. But surely a few days to recover was not too much to ask?

_-No rest for the wicked-_ Death thought bitterly as he crossed the barren landscape of the Council's domain, glancing up once at the empty horizon. He had never been one to need much in the way of rest, but even he had to admit his recent travails had knocked much out of him. It wasn't so much a weakness of the body he felt, but a weariness of the soul. He knew his brother War was in a similar enough state. Both of them had undergone quite the ordeal in their own rights, ordeals that had in parallel, even ended in both their deaths, and, as fate would have it, in both of their coming back to life but a few moments later, with the breaking of the final Seal. If that didn't take some sort of toll on a soul, Death wasn't sure what did.

He rode now with the full power of the Seven Seals at his back. Or that at least is what the scriptures said. Yet Death noted somberly, that he felt no stronger, not the least bit more powerful, he only felt drained, numb and utterly sick of it all.

The constant warring between Heaven and Hell seemed to him petty now. The only thing to have come out of the squabble was the utter destruction of a whole realm and the extinction of an entire race. He could not help but think he himself had done both and on many occasion, when he had ridden at the front of the nephilim horde, but he and his brothers had abandoned such agendas many eons ago, sickened by all the pointless destruction they had wrought. Indeed, all of Creation seemed to enjoy pointing fingers at his slaughtered brethren for the murder of so many worlds. Yet if what his brother War had told him was true, angels and demons had just done the same, and neither seemed to care much, neither seemed to own up to their hand in it. It made him sick.

He thought back to what little War had managed to tell him when he arrived by his side. The last things he recalled was being enveloped by the light blue haze of the Well of Souls, floating, drifting. Then, falling. Falling through the skies of the world, wreathed in purple flames. He didn't register the impact, but he remembered kneeling in the center of a huge crater when his vision cleared. Then a huge metal gauntleted hand being offered to him, palm up. He felt himself smile with relief as he took it and was hauled to his feet, to be immediately crushed in a tight embrace. He would never have confessed to a living soul, that had it not been for his brother's hand, he wasn't sure he would have been able to stand without stumbling feebly.

He knew not where were his siblings Strife and Fury were, had not known what to say to War when he asked about them and the younger Rider clad in crimson had scowled deeply. Death had silently rejoiced at seeing his brother alive and well, but this troubled look now gave him pause.

Then two swirling portals had opened up before them, and the Council's voices had spoken in their heads, giving War his new assignment, and giving Death the summons to appear before them with a tone that left no room for arguing as to the immediacy of the order.

War's face had gone stiff and he had clenched his jaw tight. "I thought we'd have more time..." he had muttered under his breath.

"What's...?"

"Brother" War broke in, speaking hurriedly, eyes boring intently into Death's own "Know there is some great conspiracy underfoot... the angels set this off. Abaddon, the Destroyer, had been scheming with demons. And... with Azrael." he seemed reluctant to give the name, "Though he has done more than most to rectify the wrongs. However guilty, I feel we can trust him. This is far bigger than you or me, we will need the help. I don't know who else is involved" War had shaken his head.

"War? What is all this?" Death had been alarmed at the tone of his normally impassive brother, trying to make sense of the incoherent stream of information.

"The Council knew Death! They knew I was not to blame. They knew everything!" he snarled "Watch what you say to the Council, they are not to be trusted".

And then his vision had clouded in the swirling streams of the teleportation spell, the feel of his brother's hands clasped about his shoulders had faded, and he had arrived here, in this blasted realm of liquid fire and the blackened expanse of dirt he now trudged across.

War's few words, while not enough for Death to piece together what his brother had really learnt, had been enough for him to suspect that this abrupt summons had been intended specifically so that the both of them could not have discussed anything. He would have to keep his suspicions to himself when he spoke to the Council though, there was no sense in stirring that hornet's nest without substantial proof, or without a real means to do anything about it should it all prove true. And he knew his brother enough to know his suspicions would indeed prove true. He would not have voiced them to him otherwise. It was only a matter of time.

At least he was being summoned to the Council directly, where he hoped he could get direct answers. He could only imagine how mad War must be right about now at his far lesser assignment. "I have faced down the armies of Heaven's finest, Hell's champions, defeated The Destroyer himself, and now they're sending me to play referee in a minor skirmish that will all but have dissolved the moment I make my presence known?" He smiled in spite of himself as he imagined War's grumbling going a little something like that. And his brother would not be wrong of course.

A sudden gust of hot air wafted by his face as he passed a volcanic vent, tousling his long raven hair sending unruly strands in front of his eyes. He absently brushed them aside, and was slightly startled at feeling his own skin beneath his finger tips. He knew he was not wearing his bone mask of course, but it's funny how easily he forgot. He had worn it for such a long time, millennia in fact, ever since he became executioner to his own people, without even a thought to removing it, he barely recalled a time when he hadn't worn it.

"It's been so long since I've seen you without that piece of bone you call a mask brother" War had commented as he pulled apart from their tight embrace, but a few moments ago, back on Earth. "I had forgotten how alike we look" his brother had smiled warmly at him.

"I'm still the better looking of the two though" Death had replied in stride and they had both laughed. He smiled now at the recollection.

He knew it was in his mind only, but he felt strangely naked without his mask, uncomfortably vulnerable and the feeling nagged at him annoyingly. Whatever had possessed him to drop it carelessly onto the hands of the Crowfather those last moments before he jumped into the Well of Souls? His belief that he was not coming back from this one? Probably. Damn it. Damn all of this. Damn it all to Oblivion.

His foot hit stone instead of soot and he knew he had arrived. The very first step of a set of stairs lay beneath his boot, having seemingly come out of nowhere. As he set a foot on the second step he halted, hearing a flutter of wings and a soft caw from high above, a call he would recognize anywhere. Dust dove frantically from the air to land on his shoulder in a swirling mess of black feathers. Some of his discomfort seeped away in puzzled amusement as the bird jumped around excitedly on his shoulder and pressed his forehead to the side of Death's face in a gesture of affection he had never seen in Dust before, or any crow for that matter.

"Well I'm certainly glad to see you too, old friend" he put a heavy palm on the bird's back to make it stand still, feeling the connection of the feral mind link with his own again. He hadn't even known he missed it until now. _-At least some things are returning to normal-_ he thought and proceeded to climb the stone steps leading up to the council room.

"Death" a booming voice stated simply acknowledging his arrival, and in the process, startling the crow at his shoulder, who proceeded to make himself scarce, flying up to a jagged rock outcropping overlooking the room. _-Yes, back to normal indeed-_ Death scowled after his coward of a companion as he climbed the last few steps to reach the platform of smooth rock that stood surrounded by lava before the three stone effigies of rock and spewing fire that were the Charred Council. He faced all three and bowed respectfully. He would not make his apprehensions known. Not yet.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Death" the head on the right spoke and Death had no idea whether the bad pun was intended, but was not foolish enough to ask. He had never known the Council to jest, but he felt mocked nonetheless. Yet he held his silence, with a face as devoid of expression as he could muster. Again he thought, this would have been all the easier had he still had his mask, intended for just this purpose.

"We followed your exploits closely and with great interest, Horseman" the left most effigy continued.

_-Followed... and not intervened, much less aided-_ Death noted in his head, irritation flowering anew, but he continued to face the Council impassively.

"We must commend you on your actions: You freed the souls of Mankind and brought them back from extinction, as well as ended a threat to the Balance by slaying Corruption. We know it must have cost you to slay your own brother twice..."

His fists clenched involuntarily. -_calm yourself-_

"We cannot help but note, however, that you rode without instructions from your Masters"

_-Here we go-_

"But as your actions have only been in favor of the Balance and have had no negative impact as of yet, we feel that reprimanding you for this would only serve to waste time and resources. We can spare neither in these times"

_-What? Just like that?-_ he raised an eyebrow before he could stop himself.

"However..."

_-That's more like it-_

"We are concerned at the loss of a certain angelic weapon you came in contact with..."

That, he didn't expect. "An angelic weapon?" He finally spoke up frowning.

"Yes Horseman. You yourself pieced it together when you, without sanction, travelled to Earth" the left most stone head sounded accusing.

"So you didn't miss that, huh? I was hoping to have slipped in and out unnoticed" Death shrugged, trying not to smirk.

"We have many informants in many realms. You must have known it would be known to us eventually" This from the right.

"At ease Horseman, as we have said, your transgression in this matter will be overlooked given the positive outcome of your intervention..." left continued.

"The Rod of Arafel!" proclaimed the center effigy in what seemed like the deafening grinding of rocks, apparently growing impatient with the detour in conversation.

"It is a most powerful weapon," agreed the right most head. "Capable of destroying Corruption on a grand scale. A weapon this powerful should not have been lost. We cannot hazard it falling into the wrong hands."

"If its greatest power is to clear Corruption, how dangerous can it be? Whatever hands it falls into"

"Indeed. But alas, it is not it's greatest. It is an instrument of Light, of Life. The broken pieces of it when hidden on Earth, were what was used to give un-life to the corpses of dead. Its innate power twisted for a dark purpose."

"Alright, so it should not be wielded by Hell." Death conceded, "But if the staff is angelic in nature, should it not go to the White City? What harm could it be put to if it is an instrument of Life and Light?"

"In most other circumstances we would be able to trust the White City to keep to The Law and not abuse such power. But the Shattering of the Third Kingdom has sparked open hostilities across many realms. To destroy the darkness that the demonic realms thrive on, would be all too simple, and so, all too tempting."

"Almost all realms were struck by Corruption. Some were struck violently like the Black Stone and the Ivory Citadel which you saw for yourself. But the rest of Hell was also touched and so was Heaven. Corruption crept up on these realms silently but inexorably. After the Shattering of the Third Kingdom, both factions have intensified their conflict, small skirmishes up until now, but if before they were hoping to go unnoticed, neither side seems to shy from open hostilities now." The center effigy seemed almost patient as it explained.

"So send me to beat Heaven and Hell back into submission! Not on some pickup errand!" Death felt his temper rise and forced his voice level again "Shouldn't War be here? He learned firsthand of the angel's treason, he mentioned that Abaddon was himself betrayed by a demon. Shouldn't our efforts be focused finding out who else is plotting behind the Council's back? Shouldn't we be using this incident to crush both realm's ideas of betrayal and back into abidance of the Law?"

"_We_ don't have to explain our actions to you." the stressing of the first word made known to Death that his 'we' included one person too many. "Yet, we tell you that this _is_ being dealt with. On our time, by our methods. War will be called here shortly, we are indeed very interested in what he has to report. Balance has been lost, and restoring it means rooting out all involved in this treachery. It is most definitely our most important endeavor."

With a sinking feeling in his gut Death decided this was in fact worse. He had thought the Council was doing nothing about this possible Heaven-Hell conspiracy. Now he found that they were, they were just not putting him on the job. Death, last remaining Firstborn of the nephilim, most powerful and feared of the Four, was not their choice. Maybe he was not their most trusted Rider, but certainly their most able. Instead he was being given an assignment that seemed suspiciously like something to occupy him with while they talked to War alone. Damn all of this. He felt the sensation of apathy and tedium creep up on him again. He wanted no part in this. Let all factions of Creation tear themselves to pieces, he cared not.

"Right now, the recovery of the Rod of Arafel is paramount. Even if it seems otherwise to you" the cavernous mouth on the right continued. "So far Heaven and Hell have been held back by the bulk of their forces being occupied on the home front by the lingering Corruption, but whatever faction wrestles free from what plagues them first, will be in a prime position to launch a full scale attack on the other. No such advantage must be allowed to either one."

"You lost the weapon in Lostlight. Angel territory. Which makes it all the more likely that angels will try to get a hold of it first." the center head boomed accusing.

"Hold on,... I _lost_ it? I never intended to secure the damn thing!" Death protested "it was collateral."

"True. But you could have retrieved the weapon once you had defeated the Archon, and you did not. Granted, you did not know what you had, but it was careless to simply forget the staff once you had the key you had come for, and most certainly after seeing what it could do."

Death bridled at that, he could not argue with this fault, and his sore pride took a new blow at realizing his oversight. He had not even thought about the rod when he rammed Harvester into the Archon's back. Hadn't even bothered to look where it might have fallen. It had given him so much trouble on Earth finding it's pieces and putting it back together, and yet it was true he had not even given thought to it until now. He clenched his jaw and furrowing his brow he nodded.

"Horseman, you are to go back to Lostlight, and secure the Rod of Arafel." the center effigy spoke formally issuing the Council's command. "We do not know that the angels know of its reappearance at the Ivory Citadel, but it is possible the White City has already dispatched troops to secure it. You are to stop at nothing to ensure the Rod comes into our custody. We have been lenient so far, but fail us in this, and all your unsanctioned actions will be called into question. Leave now, and make haste, Rider".

Death forced himself to bow respectfully once more, acknowledging his commanded task and checking his temper. _-Not a word-_ He told himself _-no matter how strange this all seems, you can't afford to do anything foolish before consulting with War-_. Turning on his heels he walked purposefully towards the steps leading down to the barren plains.

"One more thing, Horseman"

_-by the Abyss, what now?-_ Planting a neutral expression on his features he turned to regard the Council once more.

"There is another object you have also lost, but this misplacement was easily remedied. It was sent back to us from the Kingdom of the Dead" The left most cavernous mouth spoke. "Approach".

Burning with curiosity, he did as he was bid. He glanced up at where Dust was perched, silently he questioned the bird _-You got anything to do with this?-_ and in response the crow fluttered down from his perch to his shoulder with the tiniest of caws.

He stopped just before the pool of lava that separated the platform and the three stone effigies. Looking down, the burning lava receded revealing a circular patch of dry rock. And for an instant, all irritation was gone, forgotten, replaced with surprise and relief.

At his feet, in the center of that circular patch of rock floor, staring hollow eyed up at him, lay his bone mask.

End of Chapter1

Next chapter we head to Lostlight proper. And meet some old friends :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The amber, gold and ivory hues greeted him as he stepped into the realm. Leaves fluttered serenely down from the trees atop the steep rock faces to either side of the path, to shower lightly on the spectral steed and his rider as they passed. The tranquil atmosphere characteristic of any place the angels called home now seeped into Death as he guided Despair at a lackadaisical pace towards the Crystal Spire. Somewhere above, even Dust circled serenely, content to just soar and stretch his wings.

Death could have let his lean pale steed gallop away at his thunderous speed and be there in a matter of seconds, but he needed time to think. About what this new assignment said about the motives of the Council. About the weapon he sought and its supposed great power. About how he was going to go about recovering it in the first place.

And quite frankly, he decided he had had enough of rushing into things. If the Council was going to send him away on a fool's errand, well he was going to take his damned time about it whether they liked it or not.

His thoughts were back to the maddened Archon, back when all he sought was the Angel Key, the Well of Souls… and saving War. Yes, with the promise of access to the Key's location he had searched for the pieces of the rod on Earth. Brought back the re-forged staff, and simply handed the powerful weapon over, thinking nothing of it. Had he been so blinkered by his need to spare his brother from Oblivion that he failed to question what he would normally ponder over carefully? Death had always been measured and calculating down to a fault. With less urgency, he would likely have thought twice about this and a great many other things he had simply plowed through in order to erase his brother's supposed crime. But then again, with less urgency, he would likely have never forced himself to overcome this and a great many other trials.

The struggle came back to him now: slaying the Archon, the body falling with a wet thud on to the stone and then over the side of the floating platform to the bottomless drop. As much empty sky above as he saw below, if this world had a core, he could not say for certain. When he had ported off the damaged platform, for there was no other way down, the Rod wasn't there. He would recall if it had been lying there. It must have fallen over the side with the Archon's corpse. So how to go about retrieving it? What if there was no ground below for it to eventually land? What if it was still falling?

He decided to stop contemplating possibilities that boggled even his ancient mind, and concentrate on what he actually knew. It was after all, the only starting point possible.

First he would have to get back to that floating platform where the Archon died... If he could remember where it was. He had no mental map of the many floating rocks, islets and free floating platforms of this realm, he would have to search for one that looked familiar. That meant scouting for it from the air, not to mention he needed a way to get down from the place once he found it, to search the air space below it.

_-Alright, so I need wings-_

The gryphon beasts the angels sometimes used for mounts came to mind. Would he find any at the Spire? He thought of Nathaniel, stationed to guard the Crystal Spire and, formerly the Archon as well. Death contemplated asking the angel for the use of his mount and wondered how much he could keep from Nathaniel and still convince him to lend his aid. If he intended to secure the angelic weapon without angelic interference, no angel could know what he sought.

"Hmm "

Would Nathaniel even still be at his post? Most likely. If he knew anything about the nature of angels is that without an order to the contrary, any one of them would happily die at his designated post, even when tactics and strategy deemed it an unnecessary sacrifice, or even a waste of resources. A most honorable death to die upholding one's duty.

"Pfff..."

One of the many things he would never understand about angels, Death thought with no small amount of contempt. For a race that prided itself on being the most sophisticated and rational in Creation, they were notoriously pig-headed when it came to duty. But then, the warriors of the race were rarely the brightest, Death had found. It was the scholars and scribes, who were the ones that knew better, the ones with actual brains, the ones who had over millennia built up the font of knowledge angels so prided themselves on. But then, they rarely left the small domains of their libraries. Indeed Death had met but a handful in his time, so rarely had he ever been to the library of the White City. All of them knew full well they were considered inferior by their more bellicose brethren, it could be no other way in a society so strictly militarized, and yet none gave any indication that they cared. Of course, none of them were remotely capable of holding themselves against a foe, which ultimately, made them no better than scared rabbits in Death's opinion. Clever rabbits.

And just as he thought this, Death chuckled softly to himself, wondering with amusement if he really thought no segment of the population could possibly escape his low esteem, or if it was just his weariness that was making him more irritable and cruel than normal.

Despair snorted, calling his rider's attention back to the present, alerting him of what he thought Death should be looking at.

"What is it?" Death looked ahead, absently patting the decaying flesh on the long spectral neck, green wisps of mane entwining themselves about his wrist.

"Of all angels in Heaven, what is _he_ doing here?"

They were at the ornate bridge and in sight of where Nathaniel should be standing guard below the Crystal Spire, Death reigned in his mount straining his keen eyesight.

Despair tossed his head impatiently as if to declare he was not expected to know such things.

"I wasn't asking you in particular..."

Across the circular expanse that was the landing of the Crystal Spire, two angels stood facing each other, in quiet conversation. One huge mountain of an angel, clad in thick, heavy, ivory armor with gold trim, colors that made him almost blend in to the background despite his size. Nathaniel stood feet apart and shoulders back in the stance of a proud warrior so accustomed to radiating strength that he seemed completely at ease as much as he seemed imposing. Even though he was easily twice the bulk of the other angel and stood a good two heads taller so that the newcomer was forced to look up to the soldier when he spoke, Nathaniel bowed his head in a manner that suggested utmost respect to the other, he was in the presence of a superior.

The other angel, dressed in a long robe of slate blue with silver embroidering and trim, did anything but, blend into the background. He stood with arms crossed before his chest. His hands hidden beneath folds of layered sleeves that hung almost as long as the robe itself. He wore no armor of any kind. Already enough to set him apart from most other angels, he also carried no weapons. This was a scholar, and the only scholar angel Death knew, who held himself with such poise and import before a warrior, or before anything in Creation for that matter. The only scholar Death had ever known to not shy away from battle, and indeed to have even led soldiers in the field.

For Death had needed none of these visual clues to infer the identity of this new angel. One glance at his imposing but elegant wings had identified him from a distance when no other features where yet discernible. As pure white as the freshest snow, they were elongated and slim. Every other primary feather was uncommonly lengthy, almost brushing the floor as the wings flicked idly and were decorated with glowing blue runes that spoke of their owner's magical attunement. No other angel boasted wings as beautiful as these, yes, Death had always secretly thought them beautiful. But then, this was no ordinary angel either. He was an Archangel. The Archangel of Death.

The Rider set Despair onward at a walk once more, so that they might see him approach from a distance and not be alarmed by him. This new angel's presence here complicated things. If he intended to fool Nathaniel into helping him and not ask questions, fooling the Gatekeeper would be no small feat.

But in spite of the complication, he found his own mood lightening for the first time since leaving his brother's side.

_-Well, if nothing else, this should at least prove interesting...-_

As he approached, and Despair's hooves rang clear and sharp on the stone and metal of the landing's floor, Nathaniel's eyes quickly darted to Death. And soon after, the puzzled scholar followed his companion's gaze so that now both stared openly at his arrival. Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, a frown growing on his features as he turned to face his shoulders square to the Horseman, his hand going to rest at his sword's hilt, seemingly of its own accord. If the Archangel, on the other hand, felt surprise in anyway by this unexpected arrival, he had too much control to show any. He simply waited, hands clasped before him, expression unreadable, for the Rider of Death to approach.

"Azrael" Death nodded first to the higher ranking angel as protocol demanded. A shallow gesture that intended to pass for a bow, yet such a gesture he would offer few other beings. Then turned to the soldier to greet him in turn.

"Hello again Nathaniel" Death tried his best at affability, fully conscious that he needed to secure the angel's cooperation. For all his effort however, the response was that the bulkier angel stepped half in front of Azrael, drawing himself up to his full impressive height and tightening his grip on the hilt at his hip, earning him in turn a puzzled look from both Rider and Archangel.

Death had no reason to dislike the angel, they had been allies not long ago, but such hostile body language made him bristle in spite of himself, he had never been one to take challenges diplomatically. Until he suddenly understood the guard's reaction.

"You can stand at ease, I've not come to pass judgment on your Lord" Death held up a calming palm, reigning Despair to halt once again a few paces from the stairs where the angels stood.

Nathaniel only tensed, but turned to look down as Azrael placed a hand on his armored bracer. The scholar gave him a reassuring look, and after a long moment, grudgingly, Nathaniel stood aside.

"I didn't even expect to find him here" Death continued. Behind his mask, none could see he smiled at the robed angel who now approached to stand before him in greeting, but he hoped he had put enough warmth in his voice for him to tell.

"Then what have you come for, Death?" Azrael asked, his expression lightening somewhat. Death thought he saw tension leave the angel's jaw line.

"Do you presume to question one of the Four? Not even _your_ rank allows for that, Azrael." He leaned casually on the horn of the saddle.

"I presumed to ask of a friend. I had not realized you were on official Council business, Horseman. Accept my apologies." Azrael lowered his gaze in deference as he switched back to addressing Death by his official title.

To his own surprise, Death decided he kind of liked that Azrael had just referred to him as friend, he had not known the angel considered him as such. Ever allies of course, there had always been a sort of trust, implicit if never declared. But friendship had always seemed out of the question and he found himself resenting now the switch to cold formality.

"No apology necessary, friend." He dismounted to remove the height difference and address him on an equal level again. He clasped a hand on the angel's shoulder, hoping to reestablish the familiarity. "But my reasons are my own." He finished gently.

Azrael simply nodded, smiling faintly. Death reflected now that he did not recall a single time when he'd seen the scholar smile openly. Always too controlled, too serene.

Nathaniel stepped up also, to stand a pace behind and to the right of Azrael. He stared at Death straight in the eyes in a manner that stated he was now acting bodyguard of the Archangel before him. By the way Azrael stole a glance behind him and half concealed rolling his eyes, he clearly had not been consulted in this decision. The scholar took a deliberate step to the left, removing himself from Nathaniel's 'protection', effectively forming a triangle of equal parties instead of a hostile two party stand-off.

"I would however, know what brings _you_ here Azrael, I would have expected you at the Well of Souls... I think, that place needs your attention, you know?" Death thought back to how Corruption had wreaked havoc in the Well.

About to speak, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, Azrael was interrupted by an irate Nathaniel.

"You come to an angelic realm. You deny our right to question the motive of your presence. Then proceed to question the _Archangel_ as to what he is doing here? It seems to me _you_ are the outsider here Horseman." the powerful voice boomed.

_-well this is off to a fine start-_

"And it seems to me you have lost all civility since last I saw you" Death turned back to the warrior, his own hands seeking the hefts of the twin Harvesters hanging at his hips.

"You killed my master, the Archon" Nathaniel stated simply. Death took a breath to speak already close to losing his temper, but held it as Nathaniel raised his hand to stop him "I am under no illusions Horseman, I _understand_ that it was necessary, he was corrupted. But it is still hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I must now play nice with his killer. He was my Master. Forgive this residual sense of protectiveness, but my question still stands."

"Residual protectiveness?" Death parroted, his voice thick with sarcasm "Oh, do forgive me, I thought angels were creatures of logic not emotion"

"We force emotion down when we must, lest it interfere with duty, but that does not mean we have none, Death." Azrael cut in diplomatically, his deep voice soft, appeasing, glancing quickly at them both. And perhaps deciding that the prolonged interaction of these two was an accident waiting to happen he added "Is there something _I_ can do to help? Nathaniel has many duties to attend to and I have no wish to intrude further upon his time"

Death's eyes took a weary moment to leave Nathaniel's before they fixed on Azrael.

"I have many questions, Azrael. I would be very grateful for your answers" Death spoke before he could think better of it.

This was an unplanned detour in his mission. Could he afford the time to chit-chat while the White City learnt that the Rod of Arafel lay somewhere in this realm? Probably not, but War's words still nagged at him. He could not grasp what they had all meant, they had spoken so very briefly, and still he knew not the whole story. All he could do was try to piece things together and make assumptions. Azrael had been there, with War. Had aided him. Had been involved somehow in the angel's betrayal. The chance to find out firsthand what really happened was all too tempting. What if Azrael was called before the Council for his involvement? He might never get the chance to find out. Hell, he might never get the chance to simply speak to him, see him, again after today. Something tightened in his chest at the thought. Yes, he had to.

"I...can imagine." Azrael hesitated at the intensity of the nephilim's eyes. "I will be happy to enlighten you in any way that I can Death, but I first need to see about my own business here. It cannot wait."

"I have no problem tagging along while you do. Assuming you can both talk and work at the same time..." Death pressed.

Did he detect a flinch in Azrael's expression? If so it was gone before he could give it a second thought.

"Of course. I'm headed to the Ivory Citadel, to the Scriptorium." Azrael paused "I don't image you have a way to fly there..." and before Death could add another unhelpful sarcastic remark he turned to the angel at his side, "Nathaniel, could I commandeer the use of your mount for our guest?"

Nathaniel shot Azrael an odd questioning look that bordered on outrage, and the smaller angel nodded very slightly but stiffly, silently letting the soldier know it was not really a question.

A few minutes later had Death sitting atop the massive gryphon, reigns held tight in a vice grip as the creature paced, and strutted from side to side, clearly ill pleased at having to bear this new rider. Death was certain the gryphon would attempt to throw him off if it felt it had its head for a single instant. Well, it could try, for all Death cared, he didn't even deign the beast with his attention. Instead he looked impatiently over at the two angels, waiting for Azrael to finish whatever last instructions he had for the soldier who stood overtly grumbling a few score paces away.

Answering a mental call to the skies, Dust appeared from the clouds to land on the Horseman's shoulder.

"You will remain here, beak shut, eyes open" And when the bird started to preen his feathers in a show of disinterest Death picked him up from his shoulder bringing him level with his eyes. The intensity in that smoldering gaze ensured Dust fixated fully on the Horseman.

"You know the feel of a portal spell, alert me the _instant_ you see any more angels arrive at the Spire. Keep out of sight" A single caw of acknowledgement and Death dismissed the crow by flinging him into the air, where he promptly disappeared into the golden clouds once more.

In the distance, Nathaniel bowed his head deeply, the conversation seemingly done. Azrael turned to head over to where Death was waiting, and an eye blink later, he was at his side, startling the Horseman in spite of himself.

"I didn't know you could teleport like that" Death stated casually, playing down his surprise.  
"I didn't know you assumed you knew all of what I can do" Azrael shot him a quick smirk. (*)

Beside him the gryphon threw its head, raising both front paws from the ground with a beat of the massive wings. Unperturbed, Azrael approached the beast's head as it came down, placing a hand on its forehead, the other below its beak, and gazed calmly into the wild yellow avian eyes.

"He's... restless" Death shrugged.

"She"

"Whatever"

Azrael shot a scolding look up to him though he smiled through it. Beneath Death, the gryphon calmed, soothed by the angel's influence. Not that Azrael had any concerns that the gryphon would manage to shake the steadfast Rider, but he knew the effect this particular Horseman had on living creatures, and he disliked seeing any creature so distressed.

Unfurling his own wings Azrael drifted upward "Shall we?"

Not bothering to respond but simply pressing both calves to the gryphon's sides, the Rider was also airborne. Unlike angels who seemed to simply glide on the wing without much need of air currents, the gryphon had to beat her massive wings in powerful downward trusts to get her weight off the ground. Death felt the huge wing muscles move underneath him as he flattened himself to the creature's back, for one to reduce the air drag and because the upward acceleration made it hard to do anything else.

And just like that, Death found himself speeding toward the Ivory Citadel, with a new purpose, but in much the same way as he had made the journey the first time.

End of Chapter 2

(*) I'm thinking of how Azrael teleports around at the end of the Eden sequence in DS1 when War uses the bridges to get to the portal back to Earth.

And yes you might have guessed by now the yaoi in this story will be Death/Azrael. What? I like Azrael and he doesn't get paired often enough in fics :D

And to anyone who doesn't like it:

Git outta 'ere, angel haters! We don't like yer type 'round 'ere *slings shotgun over shoulder* :)

We're keeping it T for another chapter, then we switch it up ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.

Chapter 3

Despite the laborious take off, once they had cleared the edge of the landing and only open sky and swift wind currents surrounded her, the gryphon became as graceful as a dancer. She navigated the paths between the floating rocks effortlessly, seldom beating her wings but more gliding on the currents, Death perceived only the minutest of twitches of the primary feathers, changing angle so she could adjust her course.

Azrael flew above and to his right in much the same effortless fashion. Wings fully outstretched as he had seldom seen them, Death could not help but be awed at the angel's impressive wingspan. Azrael's wings in the light challenged anything that dared call itself white, while the glyphs on the ends of the feathers seemed to glisten as the soft wing beats made them catch the light in irregular patterns.

He decided to focus ahead however when he thought much more staring and he would inevitably get caught gawping. He stretched sideways to peer below so as to determine if there was indeed a core to this world or if these loose floating rocks were all there was. Cloud cover. _-damn it-_ The whole expanse as far as he could see on the horizon was covered in an even layer of thick golden clouds. Still he had no answer.

_-How high are we anyway?-_

He contemplated asking Azrael, until he realized the wind blowing past was loud enough to warrant they would never hear each other. And so in silence they flew until, rounding a rock formation, the dull grey stone walls that made up the Ivory Citadel came into view. Azrael held back a few wing beats to allow the gryphon to land on the small landing first. Death briefly wondered why, until landing on one edge of the circle, the gryphon ran and skidded to a stop just short of the opposite lip of the landing pad. Apparently the citadel had not been designed with the needs of battle mounts in mind.

When he was content that he would not be mowed down by the landing beast, Azrael alighted beside them, a grim look on his face.

"Not much of ivory to do the name justice now I fear, but alas, we are here. The Ivory Citadel." Azrael declared, sounding almost regretful. Death dismounted with a whomp beside him, studying his surroundings. The crumbling walls still gaped in great open cracks, corruption although diminished, still clung in traces to the walls, pillars and bridges in patches. He noticed that a few of the broken angel corpses he had found lying on the cracked floors were now gone, although the blood stains still marred the ancient stone.

"Speaking of drab..." Death spoke nonchalantly, "You're going much more unadorned than I remember." But whether Azrael perceived the jibe or not, Death couldn't say, for he answered unfazed as always.

"I don't always wear the full Maestre's Regalia, it's more a ceremonial thing." Azrael explained casually. Indeed he was not wearing nearly as many layers of clothing or decorations as he customarily wore and he wondered with amusement what Death would think if he actually knew how many layers of cloth had to be tied on to the body when he wore the full ceremonial attire(1). Some layers were supple silk, some heavier cloth inlaid with metal and stone, decorated with figures of silver. To say nothing of the golden arch headpiece, made of heavy gold set with emerald stone and decorated with all manner of avian designs. Unadorned? Yes, Azrael guessed he could see how one would see his present attire as drab in comparison. He held back a chuckle however, refusing to acknowledge the teasing. Let Death think there was at least _someone_ who was immune to his sarcasm.

"And I would certainly not think to wear it while on a field trip, if I can help it. Given the dire circumstances, travelling light seemed the best option."

As it was, the Archangel wore only a couple layers of cloth, the slate blue robe was simple, albeit richly embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of leaves. A sash of plain indigo silk held the robes tight to his figure, showing off a slim frame that the ceremonial robes did not. And for ease of movement, this robe only hung to just below the knee as opposed to the ankle, revealing supple leather boots worn over indigo pants. The draping sleeves were embroidered with half the design of a radiant sun each, so that the icon appeared complete only when the wearer clasped his hands in front of his chest, as was Azrael's custom.

In all honesty, Death thought there was nothing drab about the angel's present attire, but he enjoyed poking fun at him all the same.

"I didn't even know a set of robes could have a name, interesting"

This time it was Azrael who couldn't tell if it was more of the Horseman's usual sarcasm or if he was genuinely curious.

"Angels are nothing if not overly ceremonial" Azrael concluded, smiling wryly to no one in particular.

Maybe that's why he liked being in Azrael's company so much, Death reflected. The scholar's ability to criticize his own race where it was due. Azrael was always measured in analyzing strong points and shortcomings in any situation, when any other angel was, by far, a more ardent defender of their own customs and ideals. A fearless _and_ intelligent angel, not blinded by the race's infamous obstinance was rare indeed. Of course it helped that he was also very handsome...

Death's musings were cut short as the gryphon suddenly decided she had had enough and dived sideways off the small landing platform, to extend her wings in mid fall and fly away.

"Don't look at me" Death said in mock defensiveness as Azrael looked on in puzzlement at the beast receding into the distance.

"No, it's the smell of angelic blood, the lingering presence of the dead that she fears"

"Again, don't look at me" Death shrugged and Azrael did indeed look at him scowling. "Most of these were dead when I arrived the last time" he shrugged.

"I know an old corpse when I see one, Death" It sounded as though he was beginning to strain Azrael's patience.

Indeed the blood trails and splatters everywhere had long ago gone from any recognizable shade of crimson and into the spectrum of dark lifeless browns. Azrael stopped by each of the three bodies lying on the floor, examining them briefly, then after a short incantation that was barely audible, a white flame sprung up from each body in turn. It consumed the remains instantly, leaving nothing but clean stone behind when the flames dies down an instant later.

Death stood by wondering if the solemnity was really necessary when they were so pressed for time. If it were up to him he would have just stepped over the angels and carried on. None in Creation were quite as unperturbed to be among the dead as the Horseman, but Death reminded himself these were his angelic companion's brethren that were strewn across the floor and decided he'd best let this lie.

"So... what did we come here for again?" Death said conversationally as he blatantly changed the subject.

"_I_, came to see what could be done about this place" said Azrael as he set off walking toward the double doors that would grant them access to the city.

"You? ...Azrael, look around. This place needs a team of builders, cleaners... undertakers. Not the Gatekeeper" Death followed as the angel held up his right palm as he approached the doors, and the doors kindly parted to let them pass.

"This citadel was built as a sister installation to the library of the White City, the knowledge stored here could surpass even that of the older library. My own private collection is housed here. I'm quite positive I told you of this place, long ago..." (2)

"Ancient texts and scrolls have ever fascinated me..." Death couldn't help his sarcasm. Then shrugged "If you did, I must not have been listening" he finished truthfully.

Azrael resisted the urge to sigh "I must see if the collection is intact, if corruption or the Archon's destruction damaged any of the texts..."

"You came here for books?" Trust Azrael to worry about such things at a time like this, Death scowled behind his mask.

"And to see what I could cleanse or restore of the Citadel while I'm at it" then somberly added, as the doors revealed a long corridor, littered with yet more dead. "Deal with the bodies of my fallen brethren if I can"

"While you're at it" Death picked up and repeated "So, primarily, you just came here for your books..."

"It's not simply that they are mine, Death. You must understand my private collection boasts some of the oldest texts in existence, of which no copies have ever been made. These samples are priceless, irreplaceable works from a time when the Creator still spoke to his children."

_-still just books- _Death thought stubbornly

Azrael couldn't help but note his companion seemed utterly unimpressed, but put the thought out of his mind for the present. He had more important things to worry about than to educate the nephilim. Besides, he reflected now, it wasn't that someone with a mind so quick such as Death's could not appreciate the importance, it was just that he enjoyed being spiteful.

For a wonder, Death thought, Azrael didn't stop by each fallen angel this time. Perhaps already understanding that he would encounter far too many bodies to dispose of them one by one, a single easy gesture with both hands set all five remains alight. Again white holy fire sprang up, and again nothing remained after it died down.

He seemed to wholly ignore Death's presence as he took his time examining the webbing of corruption covering the left wall of the corridor. He raised a hand to it not quite touching the strands and began to move his lips in a silent chant. His hand was enveloped in a bright yellow light, and beneath it, the corruption began to bubble and spit. It was an almost sentient effort to resist the angel's holy magics, but ultimately the strands of corruption sizzled and evaporated away like so much smoke. The cleansing effect spread outward from his palm to the whole wall and the stone seemed to remember it had once been ivory white, gleefully greeting the Archangel back with illumination of its own. Death could not help but wonder at how brilliant the whole Citadel must have been in its glory days, if all the stone tingled with this ethereal glow. Then decided it would have rapidly become tiring on the eyes of any beings other than angels, and scoffed at the thought.

"So... the Well of Souls is back to normal then. You've been back there, yes?"

"Yes. Restored, though not as clean as I would like. But yes, enough to be functional."

"_Barely_ functional? Seems very sloppy of you..."

"Where are you going with this, Death? Or are you just trying to be helpful in going through a checklist of my duties with me?" Azrael bristled at the questioning that reminded him too much of a parent checking that their child had completed their daily chores.

Death glanced sidelong at the angel and could not hold back a soft chuckle. From anyone but Azrael it would have sounded remarkably like sarcasm. He'd have to let him know someday that he just couldn't pull it off.

"I'm just curious as to why you are not at the Well where one would expect to find you."

"I am not hiding from the Charred Council if that's what you are implying. I will face my judgment and I will embrace it when it comes, as I told War. But until then, there is still work I must see to, for when a sentence is passed and I must meet my punishment, there will be no one else I trust to carry out this work."

"And what does the White City say to the Archangel of Death playing librarian in his limited time, when Heaven needs him most at the home front?" the Horseman pressed on with his questions.

"The White City does not need _or_ want me on the home front. Nor do they particularly care what I'm currently invested in." Frost came into Azrael's voice unbidden.

"Oh?" Death regarded his companion with genuine curiosity. The drawn out silence told him the angel had unwittingly touched on a subject he would much rather not discuss, and was probably recriminating himself for his thoughtlessness. Of course Death would be sharp enough to pick up on the icy tone. With a slump of his shoulders mirrored by his wings, Azrael resigned himself to explain though, this was probably the least uncomfortable topic they would yet discuss, if he guessed the direction of Death's questions.

"Some decades before the End War, Abaddon had somewhat fallen out of favor with the White City's governing bodies, due to his constant warmongering. The Elder Angels no longer supported his schemes. The military ranks remained loyal to him of course, specially the Hellguard. Public opinion was already torn." Azrael explained with a set expression. He continued to walk corridor after corridor as he talked, sometimes running his hand along a wall to wake it back to cleanliness as he had done earlier.

"My aiding Abaddon in what would result in the Fall of Man only ensured that this animosity was extended to me. Only now the situation is even more complex as the Hellguard have returned home, received as heroes and veterans of the End War, but publicly denouncing their former loyalty to the late General." the angel actually sighed heavily.

"Now it is the mystics, scholars and scribes who have taken up a defensive stance on my part, citing the Ancient Lore as a shield. So far, they have convinced the rest of the population that my status as Archangel impedes them from any punishment they would wish to meet out" Azrael sadly shook his head at this.

"Would that they had not put themselves in this position for my sake. I don't know if violence is a real threat, but sadly I cannot rule it out entirely. Tensions are running high." He halted, looking pensively at nothing in particular, snowy brows almost knit together. "The last thing the White City needs right now is more internal conflict. I'm afraid I serve my people better by just staying out of everyone's way and awaiting the Council's judgment elsewhere."

_-The Archangel Azrael, Keeper of the Well, wisest among the White City's mystics, an outcast to his own people?-_

Death found it hard to believe, yet the angel's expression hinted at no deceit. Clearly the White City was torn on whether to consider him a betrayer like Abaddon, or they would be out here in force, hunting him down. He knew not the detailed lore of the Archangels of Heaven, but he had heard enough to know Azrael was among the oldest, possibly the most versed in magic, both arcane and holy. His power alone if nothing else surely commanded respect?

Death shook his head pensively. No, that was not Azrael. If he knew him at all, he knew he would not impose his rank, however high, to regain his people's favor. When Death thought about it, the only thing he pictured him doing was indeed this sort of self imposed exile he had found him on when he came across him at the Crystal Spire.

Death snapped out of his thoughts as he saw the slender angel kneel by something on the floor.

"I just can't understand..." Azrael was muttering to himself. He looked deeply puzzled as he crouched down by the pieces of what appeared to be a broken vase.

"Mmm?" Death prompted. Then immediately wished he hadn't as he recognized the object of the angel's confusion.

"Every single vase is broken, shattered into pieces." Azrael voiced his bemusement "I mean, there's signs of battle and destruction all over the citadel. Seemingly at random, but even where there are no obvious signs of struggle, where everything else is untouched, the vases are still _all_ broken...this is too specific to be the work of corruption. Why vases? What could possibly..." He stopped short as he looked up at Death standing beside him, looking sheepishly away scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Azrael said nothing further as he stood up glaring at his nephilim companion. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He didn't sigh in exasperation, but he looked for all the world like he wanted to. Instead he walked off grumbling to himself, in the direction of the open terrace at the end of the corridor.

"The Horseman of Death, reaper of souls, destroyer of worlds…" he recited "and bane of ancient pottery!"

Death had never seen the solemn angel grumble, and had to laugh in spite of himself at that last addendum the angel shouted back over his shoulder. He followed Azrael out to the courtyards. (3)

The open air however did little to cleanse away the smell of the decaying bodies strewn about everywhere. The open terraces were pretty much as he remembered them. Winding paths that once would have been beautiful, peaceful, but that now had fallen so far into disrepair it was a stretch to call them paths at all. The stone of the floor lay cracked, covered in dirt, fallen leaves and debris from the crumbling walls. As if to lamely offset the destruction of the place, golden leafed, white bark trees doted the courtyard here and there. A cruel reminder of the beauty and tranquility that once must have reigned over the quiet outpost.

Whole sections of walls, balconies and bridges were broken off by forces so powerful Death could only imagine what must have happened here. Probably the same question played in Azrael's mind as he walked up to the very edge of a drop off and gazed at a massive block of stone that might have once been a bridge, floating off on its own above the clouds. Thick vines of corruption hung off one of its edges. Death came up to stand beside the angel in his quiet contemplation of the wreckage. The strong winds out here tousled his long black hair and pulled at the tattered cloth of his armor. Azrael seemed to not even notice the gales that tugged at his long feathers and completely ruffled the smaller ones on the edges of his wings.

"So... Nathaniel...seemed pretty defensive back there..." Death glanced sideways, but if he expected Azrael to volunteer information, the angel just stared on, gaze straight ahead, refusing to speak first. He was smarter than that. Indeed, Death reflected, neither he nor Azrael were in the habit of offering up anything unsolicited.

"He's working for you now?" Death finally gave up.

"Not officially, no." Azrael answered, his tone making a show of politeness now that a proper question was asked.

"Since when have angels done anything, not officially?"

"Ha, you know nothing of my past exploits" Azrael's lip hinted at a smirk. A single sharp flap of wings had every feather back in its place as he came away from the edge and casually headed for yet more bodies to offer up to the flames.

"You? Granted." Death actually chuckled "But Nathaniel is no rogue scholar with a penchant for disobedience... he's a soldier."

Azrael had to smile at Death's unwitting description of him, though he sighed through it nonetheless. And then sobering, he continued.

"Nathaniel has served under only two Elder Angels in his life. The Archon, who died by your blade, and Abaddon, who died by your brother's."

"Azrael..." Death's gravelly voice warned.

"Both necessary. I am not about to dispute that" Azrael amended softly, shaking his head. He reminded himself to be careful of Death's quick temper. "I am only stating facts. If Nathaniel has decided he would put himself in my service he hasn't stated as much to me explicitly, but it does not surprise me in the least. He probably sees it as an extension of his service to Abaddon."

"Nathaniel's an avid warrior. If he's decided he will play bodyguard to a scholar, I'll wager he'll be bored out of his mind in no time." Death said with a wry smile and a shake of his head.

"I don't expect he foresaw much action when he took up his position here." Azrael shrugged. "And yet..."

He did not finish that thought. Death suddenly tensed beside him, drawing both crescent blades with a single flowing movement, metal hissing, almost singing Harvester's excitement for bloodshed. And an instant later as the nephilim craned his neck upward, dropping to a low guarded crouch, Azrael heard it too.

Up above. Wings.

And even the ages old scholar, for all his composure, could not quite repress a sigh of dismay as he saw them. Black as sin.

End of Chapter 3

(1) I say 'tied' on to the body because in my head I picture angelic robes working very much like kimonos, in how layered they are and the many stages in which they are put on. The Japanese culture developed an enormous variety of decorative knots, and it makes sense, because there are no buttons anywhere on a kimono. Each layers is effectively tied on to the body :)  
I picture angel culture having a lot in common with the ancient Japanese in terms of the ceremony they approach everything with.

(2) During the Abomination crisis Death and War visit the library of the White City, where Azrael mentions in passing that the Ivory Citadel is being constructed at this time and that his private collection will be housed there eventually. What his collection actually includes is my take :P

(3) Did no one else ever wonder, as you ran around the Ivory Citadel, making a point of smashing every single vase in there in search of coins or potions, what angels would have thought of Death running amuck in search of loot as if the city wasn't already damaged enough? :x


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.

I have gone for far too long without giving a shout out to another writer: SirenOmega (go look her up, I'll wait...) Check out "Choices we Make" and the sequel "Death We Have a Small Problem" which I'm in love with. This girl writes the best Darksiders yaoi I've read, her stories make you care about the characters deeply, shinning a whole new light on them. Their interactions are so well done, I swear she gets you right in the feels every time. Also, without her encouragement this story would never have happened ;)

So, on to a more lively chapter than last. Hope you enjoy, I had lots of fun writing this :)

Chapter 4

The downdraft of wings lifted dust and dead leaves around them, heralding the arrival of the three corrupted angels, halberds at the ready. Their black wings by far the more disconcerting sight, at least for the archangel who stared up at them. Feathers disheveled and laced with webs of corruption it was only by some dark purpose that they stayed aloft at all. Death quickly surveyed the situation, deciding which one he would strike first when a fourth heavier angel joined the fray, a corrupted champion. The Horseman glanced out of the corner of his eye to estimate by Azrael's movement which way he would go first and so coordinate the attack, but Azrael was not moving. With both surprise and aggravation he realized the angel was still staring with dread at the incoming threat.

With a rasped out groan, an agile leap set Death in front of the archangel and facing the formation of enemies. He dropped to a low crouch, every muscle ready to spring, steadying his arms to the side, crossing the scythe blades behind his back, ready to swing outward in lethal arches. He had only the briefest of seconds to wonder what Azrael would read in his defensive gesture and if it had been wise to jump in like that. Then he was forced to act and the thought slipped his mind. (*)

Had they been normal, healthy angels, they would have lunged in formation for their enemy. Their strikes perfectly timed to ensure they gave the nephilim the least chance of dodging all blows. Death had seen this strategy countless times, press the foe so that even if he managed to block or parry the first two attacks, the third one would invariably land. Had they been normal, healthy angels however, a group this small was still woefully little threat to the Horseman's swiftness, no matter how synchronized.

As it was, an ordered formation was too complex for these basic minds, clouded as they were by corruption. As the corrupted champion held back to assess his target, one of the corrupted angels lunged for Death, too eager for bloodshed. A second angel followed two wing beats behind, not standing the idea of not getting a blow in himself. It was simplicity itself for Death to deal with the staggered attack, and he was already on the move sprinting towards the attackers. He parried the first angelic blade with one scythe, spinning to allow the angel to fly past behind him, then catching him with a back handed swing of the other scythe that severed wings and the spinal column in an explosion of red. Death was still spinning when the second angel reached him, and used the same momentum to hook the angel's blade upward with one half of Harvester to prevent him from blocking the actual strike that came once again from the second scythe. It embedded itself deep in the corrupted angel's chest, who coughed up its last blood ridden spit even before the body of the first angel finished skidding on the floor.

Thinking better of attacking the pale skinned dervish with the twin blades, the corrupted champion dove instead for the white winged angel, only to come to a grinding halt but a couple of paces away from his prey. Impeded by an invisible force he could not wade through even his arm came to a complete stop where he raised it for a swing. Azrael stood before him seemingly unfazed by the threat, palm outstretched holding him in place with his magics.

Sensing the one remaining corrupted angel coming up fast behind him, Azrael turned and shifted half his concentration to stop him in much the same way. Forcing his will power upon the corrupted angel, he forced the arms down and his grip to open so the sword he held fell clattering to the floor. The enraged angel struggled, arms held fast to his sides, but for all his efforts Azrael only tightened the grip until it seemed the captive would bend himself out of shape in his desperation to be free.

Seeking to alleviate Azrael's concentration of at least one foe, Death dashed for the immobilized champion. He let Harvester assume its innate form and let the single scythe fly out ahead of him. It was useless. And it was a good thing the legendary sharpness of the Horseman's reflexes were not an exaggeration. No one but Death could have reacted fast enough to catch Harvester as it suddenly flew back to him in a skewed spin, having rebounded off some sort of shield encasing the champion. It materialized all around the captive as if light and smoke had suddenly condensed themselves to withstand a blow from the nephilim weapon, with an ear piercing clang and a flash of light.

"Wait!" Azrael called to Death, who spun to fix him with an infuriated glare, a gravelly feral sounding growl came from behind his mask. He did not react well to having someone come between him and his kill. _-What's the damn angel thinking?!-_

"Azrael!"

"A moment..."

"A moment?!" Death spat. How could Azrael even sound so calm? Yet he was powerless to slay any of the enemies while Azrael chose to protect them with this shield. _-This is ridiculous!-._

The corrupted angel struggled in the grip of the archangel's magic, his arms stuck fast to his sides shrieking like a madman. He was encased in the bright golden illumination that holy spells usually shone with and began to writhe and scream as corruption bubbled from below his helm, resisting being healed away by the archangel's will. Death did not lower his guard, he didn't like this one bit.

"Stop this! You can't help them!"

"I have to try!"

Not unlike the corruption strands Azrael had cleared from the corridor walls, the corruption invading the captive angel ultimately sizzled and the angered shrieks now turned into wails of pain. It's dark lifeless skin began to revert to the pinkish tone of healthy flesh, the glazed over eyes that were deep pits of tar seemed to clear into the usual shinning white of the angelic race. Azrael smiled, his spirits lifted for the first time. Only to plummet a second later.

The corrupted angel's skin went just as quickly from black to healthy and then to a sickly discolored green, the color of corpses long dead and rotting. It's face sagged, hollowing in on itself around the skull, it's eyes ceased to shine and consumed themselves to leave only empty sockets. The attacker, instead of healing, seemed to waste away. It's constant painful wailing ceased, to leave its mouth agape in a crooked silent scream. It seemed corruption was so much part of these angels now, that cleansing it away from him had left him only the hollow shell of the being he once had been. And all that was left, all that corruption hadn't claimed as its own, did not amount to enough of a being to ensure it could live. The angel finally collapsed in a heap on the floor with the loud clatter of its armor and Azrael could only stare heartbroken at the wrinkled discolored mess of a face gaping up at him.

Sensing the sudden weakness in the magic that held him, the corrupted champion broke free roaring his fury. All he needed to do was swing, Azrael was well within the arc of his sword. The champion's blade left a semi circular trail in the air it moved so fast, but Azrael was thankfully faster, instinctively teleporting a score paces back so that the blade met nothing but air. Death had the distinct feeling of his heart missing a beat before he registered Azrael was safe. Harvester almost quivered, ready in the nephilim's grip to put an end to his master's foe, but Death knew better than to attack the champion where he stood. He recalled the corrupted champions being able to charge a great distance, deceptively fast. He also knew Azrael would not expect that.

"Fly!"

Death had just enough time to shout out to Azrael, voice coarse with command, before the champion unleashed his dash, blade held before him like a ship's prow. Reaching Azrael, his blade again met only the vacated space below his quarry's feet as the archangel took flight with a single powerful down beat of his wings. What did meet the champion however, was the jagged black blade of Harvester, wielded by a cloaked monstrosity of dark hood, hideous wings of bone and an empty void where it's face should have been. The only way Death could flown fast enough to impact with the champion at his target and cleave him neatly in two, from left hip to right shoulder. The final attacker fell apart on the stone floor.

Immediate danger over, Azrael took a moment to force his accelerated heart to quiet down before landing so as to meet the empty gaze of the Reaper who now turned that horrid visage his way. He towered over the angel at least twice his height. The sheer power of Death in this form roiled off him in shadowy tendrils almost visible to the angel's senses. Always had this dark form involuntarily inspired a mixture of awe and fear in Azrael, or any creature of the light for that matter. He struggled to keep it from his face though as he forced himself to stare steadily back into the void and resisted the urge to swallow.

Thankfully, an instant later had Death reverted back to his usual form, wisps of purple smoke dancing one last time around him before disappearing into the ether. Monstrosity gone however, Azrael found he had to force himself just as hard to meet the angry gaze that the bone mask greeted him with. Burning orbs gone a furious red bore out from underneath the ridges of the eye sockets. He approached his angelic companion with purposeful steps leaving the black blood of the champion to pool behind him. Shoulders tense with suppressed anger he passed the shaft of Harvester behind his back, splitting it once again into the two scythes.

"Can we actually start treating the enemy like the enemy now?" Death rasped out menacingly, his voice low and steely cold. "Thank you" he added sardonically as Azrael dropped his gaze to the floor in defeat. He clipped each half of Harvester back on his belt at his hips with finality, still glaring.

Azrael did his best to ignore that burning gaze. He didn't want to admit to himself that he wasn't so much ignoring it as he was trying to avoid it turning away uncomfortably. Didn't Death see? He had to _try_. Yes! it had been risky! But if there was a small chance he could have cured the angels of this corruption, somehow brought them back... No, Death was right, he realized grudgingly. It had left him vulnerable to attack. He'd underestimated his foe, and over estimated his own chances of success. Azrael turned away frowning, feeling uncomfortably foolish.

But Death did understand. The words of a Maker warrior came back to him now: "Every blow we strike against Corruption is a blow against our own. Think on _that_ Rider, before you brand me a coward", Thane had admonished him back in Tri-Stone, it seemed like so long ago.

He forced down his anger with a silent sigh. Against demons and the undead, Death had never seen Azrael falter, he hated them with a passion. He was angel through and through in that respect. But these had been the first live angels he had encountered here. Except he didn't understand as Death did, that they were no longer truly alive. And so, with an effort at compassion he would have spared no other in Creation, he softened his tone. Soft as _he_ could manage anyway, and spoke again to Azrael's back.

"Look, I've been here before, I know what lurks here. I'm just trying to prevent you from getting yourself kil..."

"I don't need your protection _or_ your condescension Death!" Azrael actually snarled spinning round, gaze boring into the nephilim's burning eyes. It had still sounded like a reprimand Death realized, but he would never have expected the angel's anger. Not _this_ angel anyway. A few moments of meeting that icy ivory gaze with a little confusion and Death conceded, he backed off raising his hands with a shrug.

Lately it seemed he had tried his hardest to not be his usual indolent self, and so far had gotten only angry responses to his efforts.

_-Why is being nice so _haaard_?- _He thought frustrated as Azrael walked past him scowling and on to the grand double doors that led to the Scriptorium in the middle of the terrace. He had only sought to protect him...

_-Maybe if you were less of a jerk about it, he might have appreciated the gesture-_ Death's conscience chided him unbidden. He rasped out a sigh, shaking his head as he skulked after the angel into the building.

"Well, damn it" Death hissed under his breath, the damn angel better appreciate what he was about to do...

"Azrael!" he called, and the archangel, some ten paces ahead, stopped and turned, expression stern. "I'm sorry..." Death bit out grudgingly and Azrael's eyes actually widened. After a pause he added "And, you're right, you had to try."

Azrael blinked, took another moment, perhaps not believing what he was hearing, and the silence grated against Death's pride all the more.

"Well, now I know" Azrael conceded gravely, then after a regretful sigh, "I should have heeded you of course, forgive me"

Death shrugged, eager to just drop the subject all together. He set off walking in the direction Azrael had been just a moment ago, and indicated for the angel to do the same. Another set of double doors swung open before Azrael's silent command and they were in the tall hollow spire of the Scriptorium.

Craning his neck so he could estimate the height of the library, Death absently noted he had failed to take in the sheer size and grandeur of the building last time he was here. But then again, he hadn't been exactly sightseeing. Much like the library of the White City he and War had on occasion visited, the book cases packed with old leather bound tomes stretched from floor to ceiling, up uncountable floors. Ornately brass railed corridors and balconies ran along the circular walls of the spire connected by flights of stairs on many points. Probably for the sole benefit of wingless visitors that may from time to time sojourn here to the Citadel, as any of the angelic scholars or scribes would invariably fly up to whatever level, to whatever section of the library they needed.

As it was none of those scholars or scribes were presently flying around the place, the huge building was completely deserted. The bluish illumination of the place made it all seem strangely serene, if uneasily quiet.

Speaking of alone, Death was silently thankful Jamareah appeared to not be here any longer. Azrael had probably known him well, as he knew each and every single scholar and scribe that worked in the White City. Death could only imagine the angel's reaction at seeing the Head Scribe of the Scriptorium in the state he was last, when corruption festered in him, to say nothing of the state he was in after Death was done with him. He wondered where the Scribe was if not here, but dismissed the thought, quite probably he simply died of his wounds and he was not about to bring up the subject with Azrael.

The archangel seemed not to even notice the mess of tomes and scrolls strewn about the floor, nor the strained silence. He headed for the closest flight of stairs and started to climb. Death noted the gesture silently, and followed. He knew Azrael unhindered by his presence here, would have simply flown up to whatever section of bookcases he needed, if he decided to walk it was solely for his benefit.

Death wondered if they were indeed climbing to the very top, warily eyeing the top most levels. _-This will take a while...-_ In the mean time, a wing of angels could be arriving from the White City at any moment, having got word of the final resting place of the re-forged Rod of Arafel. He was wasting time here he knew, but neither would he get another chance like this. Everything suggested that the Charred Council had sent him here only to get him out of the way, keeping him in the dark while they developed their schemes further.

Well the Council didn't expect he would meet Azrael here. It was now imperative he find out exactly why War had said the Council couldn't be trusted. Death had to know if the Horsemen, his brothers and sister, were at any risk or danger from the Council. He had to make the most of this opportunity. He had no doubt Azrael would aid him in this. The Rod of Arafel would just have to wait. This was far more important.

Besides, it wasn't often enough he could just speak to Azrael alone. Death found he enjoyed the conversation of the one other being in Creation he considered intelligent enough to hold his attention, even if he _did_ let his angelic heritage get the better of him from time to time. _-I guess nobody's perfect, not even archangels-_ Death shrugged mentally and continued climbing the stairs after the angel.

Level after level they climbed, mostly in silence. Azrael glanced at the shelves as he passed, but made no attempt to order anything, or even pick up any of the books on the floor, choosing instead to just carefully step over them.

"You really _are_ interested only in your private collection aren't you?" Death said doing his best to also step over the tomes and scrolls. He knew that Azrael's obsession with order, especially when it came to the upkeep of libraries, bordered on the compulsive "How you are resisting the urge to put everything back in its proper place, is beyond me"

"You've no idea how complex the cataloging system is here"

"I'm sure"

"More so than the system used at the White City" Azrael glanced back at Death, but just rolled his eyes at seeing that the import of the matter was lost on him, peering over the brass railing at the long drop. Or was it that he just chose to pay no attention? "We'd be here a lot longer if I chose to archive these books back on their shelves. I figured you would not have the patience"

"So very kind of you" Death said absently, noting that they had finally come to the top most floor of the spire, no further staircases went up. Yet these sections of shelves looked no different than the millions they had already passed. If this priceless collection was here, it wasn't making itself known. "So, where to now?"

"Follow me" Azrael said unfazed, not even pausing. He was back to his usual semblance of calm diplomacy.

Death was surprised to realize this was not in fact the top most level of the spire. The main library, yes, but as he followed the angel through a short off-shooting corridor in between bookshelves, he suddenly found they were outside the building, only stone balconies ran along the outside of the spire now, leaving one unhindered to admire the view of...

_-Absolutely nothing but endless clouds-_ Death could not help but think, aggravated as the strong winds of this altitude tousled his long black hair every which way. A short flight of stone steps carried them one level higher still and onto another set of double doors that led back inside the building. So this is where they had been heading? An entire section of the library effectively sectioned off from the rest, above the entire library complex.

Azrael paused before entering those heavy doors, instead taking the time to lean on the stone balcony and gaze out over the even layer of golden clouds stretching out as far as the eye could see. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Death could not help but note he looked very serene, if slightly melancholy, but then that was usual in Azrael. He gazed calmly upon the angel, and was also reminded of how handsome he was...

_-Focus...-_

"Have you been to the White City since? Where do the angels stand now, after all this?" Death asked casually, clearing his throat. He wondered if all of Creation had truly erupted in conflict as the Charred Council had told him when he had been summoned. So far he had seen no demonic incursions anywhere.

"I was there only briefly, to witness Abaddon's public burning at the stake" Azrael sounded so bland it took a moment longer for Death to register what he said.

"And while there did you... what? Burning at the stake?!"

To burn Abaddon's corpse in public humiliation? Was that the great General's ultimate fate? And in his own beloved city. Death could scarcely give credit to what he heard.

"I fear my people have been spurred once again to their irrational hatred and zealotry of ages past." Azrael explained sounding regretful "Uriel is acting General of the White City now. Under her leadership, and with the Sacred Pacts broken, I can only see us descending into the dark ages that were the centuries of the war between Above and Below. Before the Charred Council ever came to power."

Death recalled the story Azrael himself had told him long ago of the disproportionate punishment the angels of the White City deemed fit to bestow upon one Raciel for her 'crime' of pursuing a love interest with her direct superior. This had happened at that moment in history, and had ultimately sparked the Abomination Crisis. Azrael's people did have a record of mercilessness at their worst times. But these were not those times. Angels had come far since then, or so he would have thought.

"Uriel has always been hot tempered. But, such hatred? For one of her own...?" Death tried to reconcile in his head, his recollection of the honor bound Commander of the Hellguard he had seen on Earth, with this new image of a zealot leader. But then, she had not known Abaddon was the Destroyer when last he spoke to her, Death reflected.

"When I arrived at the scene of your brother's battle with the Destroyer, the Hellguard were making ready to take Abaddon's body to the White City. War had already left the tower to go in search of you on the ground bellow. I tried to reason with Uriel to give him a proper burial, to pay the due honors to the man he _was_. If not to the man he died. Abaddon served the White City for thousands of years, he upheld the glory of the Light all his life, ...ever since I knew him. He was an honorable warrior if nothing else, the greatest champion the White City has ever known."

"My request was denied, of course. His remains were mounted on a stake and burned for all the White City to see and mock." Azrael's eyes seemed to focus on nothingness "Uriel's heart has filled with hatred. She feels betrayed by the one she, loved." He paused awkwardly on the word. "If she truly loved him, she would not have allowed this lapse, however great, to cloud _all_ of the past. Would never have allowed such a shameful..." Azrael checked himself, he was raising his voice. "But then, their love was very young at that."

"She felt Abaddon should absolutely _not_ be honored." the angel continued, back to his usual serene explanatory tone, "Said that if he was truly so noble a warrior, he would not have allowed himself to fall so low, to have been tempted by the Darkness. He would not have... betrayed his own people."

"I can't say I disagree with her point." Death commented flatly "Although the burning at the stake was perhaps a bit much" he added quickly, mentally grimacing at catching the flash of pain that crossed Azrael's eyes.

If Azrael had one flaw, in Death's opinion, it was compassion. And while not uncommon in angels, it had always seemed to him that Azrael gave in too easily to forgive and show mercy to foes that anyone else would deem undeserving. Justice, when it was harsh, had always distressed him somehow. But then, they weren't talking about just any betraying angel. In Abaddon's case, Death fully understood Azrael's apprehension, yes, even his pain.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Azrael" Death said in earnest. Azrael only shrugged, his eyes still fixed on some point in the distance. He was playing it down, but Death could see what it cost the angel to keep a straight face.

"I know you and Abaddon were together for a very long time..." Death continued softly, and then at the look he suddenly got from the angel, "You needn't look so surprised, it was kind of obvious" he shrugged.

Silence. Endless seconds of shocked ivory eyes staring into burning amber ones.

"Millennia" Azrael finally said when he could manage words again, and turned once more to look off into the distance and those ever present clouds. A troubled look in his face he no longer bothered to conceal. No point denying it. It had been so long ago, it scarcely mattered anymore, did it?

Death grimaced inside. He regretted what he had to ask next, what with Azrael already thoroughly unsettled, it was probably not the best time to change the subject from an uncomfortable one to another just as awkward. But just as one had to pull off a dry bandage caked to the wound quickly, he guessed he might just as well get the questions done with. Already he had dallied here for too long putting his true mission on hold. He allowed Azrael another moment of silence, then asked in a voice as soft as he could muster.

"What really happened in the White City, Azrael? War said the angels had set this off, that Abaddon had conspired with demons. How was Armageddon unleashed? How was War falsely summoned to the Earth if the Seals were not broken?"

This time Azrael visibly flinched, there was no mistaking it Death thought. He could hardly believe the disciplined scholar was having a hard time guarding his emotions, but that's certainly what it seemed like. He looked as uncomfortable as he'd ever seen him, he wringed his hands tightly in front of him. Death couldn't help but note the angel was deliberately not meeting his eyes, staring instead at the stone railing in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, and quickly closed it again, apparently deciding against it. Just as quickly he turned and opened the double doors next to him, and entered the corridor that led back inside the library building.

An uncomfortable mixture of annoyance and concern battled inside the Horseman. What was it going to take for the damn angel to just spit it out? On the other hand, seeing the imperturbable Azrael like this was unsettling to say the least. What was he hiding that had him in such a state?

_-Patience-_ he counseled himself _-You've never gained anything from Azrael with threats-_

He forced his ire down, and followed. Two long strides had him caught up to the scholar, who seemed to have composed himself somewhat, though he still stared resolutely at the ground, as he headed for the other set of doors at the far end of the corridor. Death decided he would gently press the subject.

"The day may not be far off when I am ordered to serve justice upon you" Well, gently enough coming from Death... "I would like to hear firsthand what happened. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"So that when you are ordered to kill me, the Executioner may know his victim's crimes?"

"My brother seemed to think you were not entirely guilty." Death explained "I would like to know so that when the order is issued, I will have something to say in your defense."

Azrael's eyes snapped to his companion beside him, taken aback. He never imagined the Horseman was prepared to do such a thing for him. Put himself on the line in front of the Charred Council? For him?

"While, I appreciate, the gesture, to be sure Death" he began hesitantly, "Speaking for me will not be necessary. I would not have you incur the Council's wrath on my behalf."

"So you will not tell me?"

"Oh, I'll tell you" the angel sighed heavily "If only so you may see for yourself, my transgressions are not worth speaking up for."

"There is something to be said for your honor if War of all people was convinced he could trust you." Death argued.

"Regardless of honor, I doubt my sins will inspire any leniency."Azrael snorted a laugh.

Death halted mid stride, dragging the story out of the angel was becoming truly tiresome, and he had never been known for his patience. He knew Azrael could be dramatic at times, but this was ridiculous.

"Azrael, what did you _do!_?"

Three steps further down the corridor, the angel also halted. He squared his shoulders, and schooled his features. He would not pity himself, this had been his choice and he had told himself he would bear the consequences, embrace his judgment when it came. He allowed himself a last silent sigh before he turned to face Death, looked him in the eyes and spoke with a solemn voice.

"I broke the Seals of the Apocalypse."

Death's mask did nothing to hide his wide eyed stare, though thankfully it was just enough to hide the fact that he gawped. He actually blinked a couple of times, and then slowly blinked again, searching Azrael's stern, determined expression, as if to make sure this wasn't some kind of tasteless joke.

After what must have seemed like an eternity Death finally spoke.

"...Come again?"

...

End of Chapter 4.

I promise I will do my best to keep Death away from Azrael's throat! :s

I make no promises tho, he's a quick temper that one...

Next chapter will in all probability take me a long time to write, cos the following dialogue is complex to say the least :o  
But hang in there, it will be worth it :D

(*) Can I just say that Azrael would have gotten the most incredible view of Death's back muscles flexing with tension from this position? ...*hot*...  
I point it out here because Azrael insists he was preoccupied with more important thoughts at the time and that it would be in poor taste to mention it in the text...

...if his blush is anything to go by though, I don't believe he didn't notice ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.

* * *

"Would you leave me if I told you what I've done?

And would you leave me if I told you what I've become?

'Cause it's so easy to say it to the crowd,

But it's so hard my love to say it to you out loud." - No Light, No Light - Florence & The Machine

* * *

Chapter 5

Azrael sighed and squared his shoulders, a frown creasing his elegant features. "I empowered the Armageddon Blade, forged especially for this purpose, and... I... broke the Seals of the Apocalypse." he forced himself to repeat the damming words calmly "All Seals but one."

Silence again.

A million questions hammered around in Death's head, all vying relentlessly to be the first one to make it past the nephilim's throat. And still he couldn't quite put together what he had just heard with the sight of the stoic angel standing squarely before him, head held high as if... as if he was proud of it? Did he understand what he had done? What he had caused by breaking the Seals?

_-Of course he understands, you fool. He's the damned Steward of the Underworld! He knows the lore of Creation better than anyone aside from the Crowfather probably-_ (1)

Was he lying? He could be lying. His normally graceful wings were folded tight to his back with tension. But then, lying for who's benefit? And War saw fit to _trust_ him? Had Azrael spoken to War as he'd spoken to him just now? And if he lied to him as well? No. War wasn't much of a liar, but he was good at picking up on one, and he _never_ forgave a lie. This was the truth then? And still Azrael stood there, as if a stone statue, stoically holding the nephilim's burning gaze.

Death's mouth, seemingly frustrated that his mind would not decide what to ask, just blurted out the simplest thing it could:

"Why?" he heard himself ask in a daze.

Azrael faltered, shame clouded over his features and finally he was unable to meet Death's eyes. "Because I am a fool" he said after a long drawn out sigh.

_-Alright, _not_ proud then, that's something I guess. But still...-_

"That doesn't answer my question..." Death's voice was strained. He'd been attempting to piece together the puzzle of all that had happened, only now to realize that he had not even had all the pieces in his hand to begin with. Not even close.

So far, he had accepted that Abaddon had plotted with a demon, but in all the scenarios in his head, Azrael's part had always been of an unwitting or unwilling accomplice, perhaps even guilty only of turning a blind eye... but this? actively aiding Abaddon's scheme? actually breaking the Seals premeditatively?

"Wait, all Seals but _one_? Which Seal was not broken?" Death felt his guts tighten, somehow he already knew the answer. He knew because if all Seven Seals were broken he could easily prove that War had not ridden un-summoned, had not broken The Law. He knew because, just as surely, he also knew that fortune had never once favored him. So, of course it would be...

"The seventh. Even at our most deluded we would not have involved the Horsemen. Abaddon kept that one seal under his protection." (2)

_-Damn it! Damn! It!-_

"Abaddon _protected_ it? Then HOW IN OBLIVION DID...?!" Death shouted, then checked himself inhaling a long ragged breath. No more questions. He was done guessing. "Alright Azrael, I'm going to need this in chronological order. Go." Death crossed his muscular arms in front of his wide chest.

"Out here in the corridor? We could just step through to..." he indicated to the doors at the end of the corridor he had not quite gotten to.

"Start. Talking." the steel in the deep gravelly voice froze the angel in place. Menace dripping from each word.

Azrael could not make himself look away from the feral, scrutinizing orbs of fire fixed on him, some dark willpower overriding his own. He felt his very soul was pinned there in place as if no more than hapless prey. He forced himself to breathe in deeply as he got his thoughts in order.

"Many years before the End War, the angels of the White Ci..."

"The short version." Death cut in dryly, knowing how the angel could stretch a tale. Azrael stopped awkwardly. At any other time he would have bristled at the uncouth insult. At any other time, he would have had _some_ moral standing with which to respond. But now, ...now he just cleared his throat uncomfortably and began again:

"Abaddon approached Ulthane and myself after being denied a full scale assault on the borders of Hell. The... plan... though I cringe now to call it that, was this: we would break all Seals of the Apocalypse save the seventh, effectively triggering Armageddon. This meant that the Chosen, the mightiest generals of Hell's armies would scramble to claim the Earth. When the forces of Hell arrived, the Hellguard would be ready and waiting. It would be... simple... to take out the top commanders of Hell's army in one place, in one fell swoop while they still struggled to organize a counter offensive. This would also leave the rest of the demonic realms vulnerable to a bigger angelic attack with the full White Army in Hell itself."

"And... you would not all get banished to Oblivion for this crime because...?"

"The Seals would be re-forged" Azrael couldn't help cringing at how naive he sounded.

"Oh! the Seals would be re-forged..." Death parroted sarcastically.

"When the Council sent their enforcers to investigate, as they surely would, they would arrive to find the Seals intact. We would claim that Hell invaded unprovoked and that the Hellguard stopped them in the name of the Balance. We... bargained... on Heaven's word having more weight than that of the Prince of Lies."

Death snorted a laugh utterly without amusement. "You're choosing your words very carefully Gatekeeper... The Council's _enforcers_? by which of course you mean my brothers and me_..._" Azrael winced, minutely, but Death was getting accustomed by now to reading the angel's subtle expressions. "I think I feel insulted! You really thought _I_ would be fooled by this? How could you have possibly believed this would work?" Death's voice positively dripped distaste.

"I... don't know" Azrael's voice had gone quiet.

"And I fail to see what is so interesting about that floor..." Death tilted his head, making a show of catching Azrael's shame-filled eyes that had, once again, dropped.

"It didn't occur to me at the time it would be _you_ I'd be pitting wits against!" Azrael all but snarled at him when he met his gaze. Being scolded like a child did not sit well with him at all, but then he remembered it wasn't really Death he should be angry with, but himself. "Of course it would be you, it was a most stupid oversight. But then, this _all_ seems idiotic looking back on it now." he clenched his fists tight at his sides.

"So long as we agree on that..." Death commented with flat sarcasm. Seeing Azrael like this was painful, even if he did deserve every reproach. Remorse gnawed at him at seeing the anguish in the perpetually serene angel, but he refused to let it show. The pain was a reminder though, that he could not deny he genuinely cared for the damned angel, even if he never intended to voice such appreciation of course. What would Creation think if it learnt the Council's Executioner actually had feelings? No. That much was, and had always been out of the question. However, he knew he was pushing Azrael to wit's end and he would need to tone it down if he was going to get more answers from him.

"So, which one of all the obvious holes in the plan did it all fall through?" Death asked in his best neutral tone, while dearly wanting to know how in Creation Azrael had managed to avoid getting run through by Chaoseater.

"Inexplicably, Hell had already claimed most of Earth even before the Hellguard marched. Everything fell apart from there. It was a lost battle from the very start. And then of course, War arrived amid the chaos. The demon Straga felled both him and Abaddon."

Death turned his back on the archangel, the mention of War's 'death' added new kindle to his wrath, and he was not certain he could restrain himself if Azrael so much as gave him that damnably composed look. How dare he mention his brother's demise so casually? How dare he remain so stoic when in contrast, hellfire raged inside the nephilim? Harvester's single long snath was already in his grip and he didn't even recall summoning it. Death's shoulders heaved, powerful muscle rippling beneath the taught pale grey skin.

"Azrael you are Heaven's voice of reason! You're the one to call for peace, when the rest of your damnable kin are losing their minds, giving into mindless hatred! You're the _one_ damned angel actually advocating for the Balance the White City only _claims_ to uphold! How could you of all the accursed angels have agreed to this stupidity? How could the only angel with a damn _brain_ fall for this asinine scheme?!" Death could not help yelling his disappointment and fury.

"I... I don't know" Azrael repeated to the stone of the floor swallowing hard, the arch of his drooping wings matched his slumping shoulders. The guilt of committing such an act was one thing, the shame of being fooled into it was quite another and Death's unrelenting reprimands hit a nerve with the learned scholar. He could stand unwavering and admit to his sin, accept whatever consequences. Under his stupidity however, he could but crumble. The fact of the matter remained that Abaddon had had no better than rumor and speculation to go on. Under no analysis could this hold up and he had gone along with it regardless. So many dead, because of figments and smoke.

"And you're supposed to be an Archangel! Aren't you supposed to know better? What's left for the rest of your damned race?!" Death's voice dripped distaste as he glared over his shoulder at the disconsolate angel.

Azrael gritted his teeth, fighting off the waves of despair that threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to scream, to shout at Death that he knew the depths of his failure better than anyone. How could anyone else understand? Death couldn't know the full extent of what being an Archangel meant. None really knew, no one who walked in Creation knew. What he was supposed to uphold. What he had been tasked with protecting. The innocent, unknowing lives he had ultimately betrayed...

He still heard them. Each and every one.

"Angel of Death... indeed..." he laughed without mirth in bitter self mockery "How many have died because of my failure?"

Something tightened in Death's chest at the acrid despair in Azrael's tone and he turned back to the sight of the once proud, elegant angel looking utterly defeated. Was this pity? It felt decidedly strange to him... "You know you will face the Charred Council for this. You know you face Oblivion." Death sighed, calling back his patience one more time "What do you plan to say in your defense?" the roughness in his voice was strained but he was now visibly more composed.

"I don't have one" Azrael stated simply.

_-Is he even trying?- _Death stared at the angel unbelieving.

"...great" he groaned in exasperation and skulked past the angel before he lost his temper again. If only for lack of a better option he headed to whatever room Azrael had been heading to, not bothering to wait to be shown in. Gigantic skeletal hands materialized to shove the doors violently ajar. He had kept from using his usual method of opening heavy doors seen as he was a guest in this particular visit. Now he just didn't care. And besides, he couldn't deny the bashing of the inanimate object helped take the edge off somewhat.

Azrael for his part winced at the sudden sonorous crash behind him, but held his tongue. He just turned with an sigh and followed the nephilim through.

The room was circular, the ceiling arched in a high dome at least three spear lengths above Death's head and was supported by four slender stone pillars and elaborately carved stone arches overhead. Clearly this must be the interior of the very peak of the Scriptorium, Death noted, his eyes quickly scanned his new surroundings as was his habit. Curiosity got the better of him, enough to momentarily forget his frustration with the angel and he paced around taking it all in.

One half of the room was dominated by a heavy red oak desk that faced the open space at the center. Lying on the polished surface were stacks of books and scrolls of brittle parchment, red wax sticks and seal stamps, an inkwell and various writing quills of different sizes, together with a stack of writing paper that had once probably been neatly stacked but now lay strewn across the entire desk and floor as if perpetually blown further by some passing wind over many years.

Behind the stately desk and lining the circular walls were more bookcases like the ones in the library proper, except these protected their contents with glass panes of an amber hue. Leather bound tomes filled the cases, the bindings sported various colors of leather but all looked incredibly worn and tattered despite the obvious care with which they were stored.

As Azrael crouched by the desk to pick up the sheets of paper that had fallen on the floor, Death noted the source of the unruly breeze was the large full height windows that opened up on to balconies on a good portion of the other half of the room. Thin white gauze curtains blew in gentle rhythm as the windows had been left completely ajar and those same golden leaves that littered the terraces far below had also found their way into this room riding the updrafts. Amber and burnt orange scattered across the pure white covers and lavish pillows of the large bed spread that lay so that it faced the desk opposite. The room's furnishings were sparse indeed, but what little there was, was definitely the finest and most luxurious Death had ever seen.

"What is this room?"

"My quarters" Azrael stated as if it were most obvious.

"You have quarters _in_ the library building?"

"I have quarters in _every_ library building in Heaven." Azrael looked as if he couldn't possibly fathom why Death was so cynical about this, but then reflected that this was probably common knowledge only amongst his kin. "It's... something of a running joke among angelic architects: 'No library is worthy of being called great if the 'scholarly Archangel Azrael' has no need to spend the night browsing it's volumes' " He explained with embarrassed humor though his nephilim companion just stared at him seeming utterly unimpressed.

_-I swear I will never understand angels and their strange quirks-_ Death rolled his eyes.

"Yes...well..." Azrael coughed awkwardly and moved swiftly to the bookcases. Violet glyphs briefly flared up hovering over the glass panels as the archangel ran his hands over them, and the glass promptly dematerialized. Death had had no doubt that Azrael's precious collection would be warded somehow, although he could not help but think the books looked like nothing special. Old yes, _very_ old. The plain leather of the covers had started to peel around the edges and some yellowing pages hung loose from the bindings. Some books of darker leather looked like they were in the process of falling apart entirely. At first glance at least, they didn't look remotely as priceless as the scholar had said.

A grim expression fleeted across Azrael's face as he ran a finger over the spines, studying their condition, before taking one out from the shelves. He caressed the leather cover like it were a most beloved family heirloom and then turned each frail page with great care.

If only to vex the angel further, Death grabbed a tome at random and flicked its pages with his thumb. He was aware of Azrael's fingers twitching as he probably fought every obsessive fiber in his being to not snatch the book away from the careless nephilim. Smiling to himself with spiteful satisfaction, he turned his attention to gleaning just what was so special about these... handwritten... was this? Death turned each page progressively slower, then ran his fingertips delicately over the black ink of the text.

"When you said this was your private collection, I had assumed they were books you had personally acquired, not personally _written_." Death turned to the archangel beside him "This is your hand..."

Azrael simply nodded at five of the bookcases packed full of leather bound tomes. "All of these. The Lore of Creation" he stated, without pomp or vanity.

"And you said they were from a time when the Creator still spoke to his children? Does that mean you've heard Him speak? He's spoken to _you_?!"

"I'm surprised you remember that. I have always thought you paid no attention when I talk most of the time" Azrael fielded the real question.

"I remember everything you say. Only, it's more amusing to let you think I don't." He answered before he could think better of it and instantly cursed his lapse, wondering what the angel would infer from his statement. He cleared his throat uncomfortably in spite of himself. Azrael thankfully made no comment, but Death was sure the sharp angel could not have missed it.

To hide his discomfort Death continued to browse through the countless pages, although now with conscious care of each delicate page. He glanced at their content catching words every now and then, not stopping to read anything in particular. He paused briefly whenever the text was broken up by small sketches, sometimes weapons, sometimes buildings of note or statues, sometimes artifacts that even he could not guess their purpose. Without having ever seen the original pieces, Death had no doubt the drawings were probably accurate down to the tiny scratches depicted marring the various objects. It seemed the scholar was also quite the artist. Another turn of the delicate paper and he came to a set of full page, meticulous illustrations of each of the Seven Seals. Death had seen the real things only once; when he and his brothers had made their pact with the Charred Council. He had certainly not studied them in this much detail that day.

Out of the corner of his eye Death became aware that Azrael had stopped cringing at his mistreatment of the delicate text and was now leaning against a bookcase, contemplating the nephilim quietly, the smallest of smiles playing on the corners of his mouth. Was his awe so apparent even behind the bone mask?

"Could Abaddon have broken it in secret? The Seventh Seal?" Death found something to ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"No. The Seal was intact when Uriel smashed it after War slew the Destroyer." The smile vanishing from the angel's lips.

"Then I'm back to square one."Death smacked the book shut and turned away. He pulled out the upholstered chair at Azrael's oak desk and slumped in it bonelessly. He closed his eyes trying to keep irritation at bay "How was War summoned if the seventh Seal was kept intact?"

"I don't know Death, I honestly don't know. I'm sorry." Azrael answered gently and it sounded like he genuinely meant that "However, I'm positive your brother does. The Tree of Knowledge _must_ have told him, only there was never a wise opportunity for him to tell me, with the Council's Watcher constantly around harassing him."

"When War freed me from the Black Throne, I took him to Eden to find a way to stop the Destroyer." Death looked as though he were pondering Azrael's words, so the angel continued to explain "I had taken Abaddon there when Straga defeated him." The words suddenly felt like ash in his mouth.

Death's eyes snapped to the angel, eyeing him with newfound incredulity. If Azrael noted it however, he gave no indication. He seemed lost in thought, elsewhere, "We thought it necessary to know why Straga had chosen to spare him... That, admittedly, was my second greatest mistake in all of this. I suspect that is where Abaddon learnt that his plan had been discovered and how Hell had anticipated us. That is also, I suspect where he... brokered... a deal with Hell's agent, and finally accepted becoming the Destroyer." Azrael sighed deeply. Painfully.

"Whatever it was he saw, after returning from the Tree, Abaddon tried to convince me to open the Well of Souls, to channel its power to aid the White Army's forces. I... for once in possession of my senses... refused. No matter how desperate the battle, I told him I would not sacrifice innocent human souls to win, destroying them in the name of a war we had no right to be fighting in the first place. That was the last I ever spoke to him." Azrael knit his snowy brows together. "Once back at the Well, I was attacked by Straga himself. And for all my righteousness, my refusal to open the Well was ultimately futile, as I failed to stop the demon General." Azrael clenched his fists tight "The next thing I recall, I was imprisoned in the Black Throne, and the Well... the Well had been sundered and was fueling the Destroyer's armies. This was a little over a hundred years ago." Azrael trailed off.

It felt as if Creation itself were silent with dread. Death had hunched over where he sat, elbows resting on his knees and his head held in his hands that slowly tightened themselves into fists. Tension laced every muscle in his powerful shoulders.

"Death? are you..."

"You took Abaddon to Eden?" Death's voice was dark, punctuated, with a clear edge of repressed anger.

Azrael shut his eyes tightly against a new pang of guilt. Yes, he'd taken Abaddon to the Garden. Whatever had possessed him to do that? Ah yes, he mocked his own stupidity bitterly; because he'd wanted so much to believe. To believe that something of the past could be brought back. A better, kinder past when it was only the two of them. Abaddon had needed his help, and his love-sick heart had rendered him powerless to deny him. So, the impassive, disciplined scholar had once again given in to irresponsibility without a second thought. Indeed, he cursed himself inwardly, he'd been _such a fool_...!

"You took _Abaddon_! to _Eden_!" Death raised his voice in sheer disbelief, forcing the angel's mind back to the present. He wasn't even aware Eden still existed, let alone that Azrael would permit anyone in now! Had not the archangel himself denied Death entrance, oh so long ago, when he had demanded to check on the remains of his slaughtered brethren? Had seriously threatened to stop him by force even, to the last consequences if need be. And he thought he knew Azrael so well...

Azrael only sighed trying to ignore the apprehension building in his stomach. There was no defense he could offer and so he just prepared himself for another barrage of yells and retorts from Death.

"Do you know how many times today I've forced myself to calm down for your benefit?" Death rasped barely above a whisper "Only to want to throttle you with my own hands with the _very next sentence you say!_?"

That... was not exactly the retort Azrael had expected. Death was holding back for his benefit? Cold, calculating, ruthless Death? That he spared him any mercy at all spoke volumes of how much he must value their friendship. Perhaps even...

"Do you _know_ how many?! It's driving me _insane_!" Death fixed Azrael with a wild glare and the angel really had the impression that those smoldering eyes were going slightly mad with restrained fury.

"Then... perhaps... it's best to get this all out of the way now..." Azrael swallowed past his nervousness.

_-No more, please let there be no more...-_

"The Human souls you freed have not been reborn"

"What?" Death's fists began to tremble.

"I hold their souls at the Well. I have not allowed them to go through."

"WHAT?!" Death sprang from his seat with predatory swiftness and strode menacingly towards the angel. He felt his vision cloud over with the red haze of indignation, his reasoning no longer felt his own. Death's voice went dangerously cold "That's it. I'm done."

Harvester flew, smacked loudly into a waiting grip that fed it dark power in the form of angry wrath. Burning wrath that its master was fighting desperately to control, but had finally, finally failed. The blade practically quivered with the anticipation of angelic blood.

_-Forgive me...-_

* * *

End Chapter 5

(1) Did you guys know that Azrael, the Crowfather and the Scribe are voiced by the same voice actor in the games? So that in essence, both games are narrated by the same person? No? Well now you know. And you are a better human being for it :)

dat voice *o*

(2) Revelation 6:1 describes the first four Seals as the ones that call forth the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and each Seal corresponded to a single Rider. In Darksiders lore, all Horsemen share one Seal, the last one. Just a tidbit of info :P

AN: Sorry for the long time updating this guys (clocked in at just over a month) but Creator only knows how I suffered writing this chapter D: It felt like trying to stop a train wreck! How do you tell someone as short tempered and dangerous as Death that you're responsible for his brother's predicament AND keep your head on your shoulders? ...Well, I guess Azrael is still not out of that wood yet... hehe, here's crossing fingers for next chapter :)

Special thanks to Lil Miss Morningstar and SirenOmega for their advice and questions that helped make this chapter not an utter mess :P


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